


Thirsty Boy

by rambunctiousragamuffin



Series: cadavre exquis [2]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Human Ashtray, Human Furniture, Humiliation kink, M/M, Praise Kink, but the two are kinda hard to disseminate here, just the kinda sin one would expect from this fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 04:48:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6940471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rambunctiousragamuffin/pseuds/rambunctiousragamuffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As a boy, Ben Solo only wanted to make people happy.</p><p>As an adult, Kylo Ren knows that the only way is to make himself happy, first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thirsty Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angryangryowl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/gifts).



> this is just a sprint I did with ducky ages back, and I'm only uploading it now b/c I've finally found the spoons lmao

Ben’s insatiable thirst for validation was visceral, a primal urge. This had been to much chagrin of his parents--his mother, who was much too busy rebuilding the republic, and to Han Solo, who was far too independent--and the exasperation of his uncle-cum-Jedi-master, Luke--and consequently, the animosity of many of his fellow students, as his desire for praise pushed him to train harder, to be better.

 

When Ben died--no, when Kylo  _ killed _ Ben--unfortunately that constant yearning for affirmation did not die alongside the naive little boy. Instead it was transmuted into something harsher, a bloodthirsty drive to be the absolute best. Under Snoke’s tutelage, he  _ had _ become the best, he had become the Lord of the Knights of Ren on the merit of his mastery of the Force. He had become far more powerful than even his great, late Grandfather.

 

But this constant pining for approval had also landed him in several sticky situations, which is exactly how Kylo ended up naked on all fours, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead and skin streaked with the General’s cum. The aforementioned General was using Kylo’s strong, broad back like a footstool, resting his immense boots across Kylo’s shoulder blades. Their weight was heavy, in more senses than one. 

 

They were heavy, to be sure, these huge monstrous things--quite at odds with Hux, physically speaking, Kylo allowed himself to think in the dark recesses of his mind--but they were also  _ heavy _ , because with them Kylo bore the weight of Hux’s tacit disapproval. If he even shifted minutely to alleviate the strain in his arms, or the discomfort of his knees digging into the thin carpet of the floor of Hux’s office, Kylo would  _ feel _ Hux’s disapproval rolling off of him in waves.

 

The silent admonition cut into Kylo’s flesh deeper than had the Scavenger’s--his  _ Grandfather’s _ \--lightsaber, the knowledge that his abasement wasn’t deemed wholesome enough, that his best simply wasn’t  _ good _ enough to garner the General’s approval, that illusive asymptote getting infinitesimally closer but always somehow  _ just _ out of reach…

 

Kylo reached into himself to try and use the Force to steady his limbs, steady his breathing. In-one-two-three, out-one-two---

 

Kylo hissed through his teeth when the General dug the heel of one boot into his back particularly perniciously, his elbow on that side buckling down.

 

“Such a shame,” Hux tsked, “you had been doing so well.”

 

The subtle reprimand was overshadowed by the implicit compliment.  _ So well _ . The General was not a kind man, not prone to giving praise on a whim. But this made Kylo all the more desperate for the precious, scant few commendations that did pass his lips.

 

“I can do better. Please, let me show you.”

 

Hux only deigned to respond with an indifferent hum, attention turned once more to the datapad in his hand. A sharp pang of inadequacy stabbed at his heart at the same time that arousal throbbed low in his belly at the chastisement. He wasn’t good enough. No, he was just a lowly thing not even worthwhile being a footstool for the General’s grotesque boots. His hair was a matted mess, the cooling cum on his skin was starting to crust. 

 

No,  _ Kylo _ was the mess, on the floor in supplication to Hux, and yet his cock was still eagerly standing proud, and only his position was keeping him from rutting against the coarse fibers of the carpet like some wild animal.

 

But when Kylo made no movement to resume his prior position, Hux stared down the long bridge of his nose at him, cold eyes calculating, appraising.

 

“But can you be good enough to warrant a reward?”

 

The Lord of the Knights of Ren let out a small, shameful whimper. No, he could not. But he would  _ try _ , and hopefully that would be enough to warrant some small scrap of affirmation.

 

At this, Hux barked out a short, sharp laugh. It was a cruel thing, a mirthless thing, and it made Kylo want to shrink into himself and lash out at Hux both.

 

“No, I don’t think you can.”

 

As if sensing Kylo’s emotional turmoil--and given the General’s latent empathy, he probably could--his gaze softened minutely. Hux put down his data pad beside him and reached into a drawer beside the chaise he was lounging on to retrieve a small, silver case, from which he withdrew a slender cigarra. He placed it in his lips, and unsuccessfully dug around in the drawer for a lighter.

 

The General did not sigh discontentedly, as that would be a lapse of decorum even in the sanctity and privacy of his own chambers, and moved to replace the cigarra in its case.

 

“May I?” Kylo’s simple query drew a skeptical stare from Hux. There was a list of things that the Force couldn’t do longer than the list of citizens in the Ileenium system, and yet, lighting a cigarra  _ was _ one of them?

 

Hux stared at Kylo for a moment longer, deliberating. It was really no loss to him if he did have Kylo light his cigarra for him, and the alternative was, well, no cigarra. Slowly, the General’s lips curled in a small, wicked grin. He knew just how to… reward the Knight. Gesturing vaguely towards Kylo with the cigarra, Hux rose an eyebrow imperiously.

 

Kylo’s brows furrowed in concentration, and suddenly the cigarra was glowing with a little cherry of embers and a small plume of sickly-sweet smelling smoke arose. Hux brought the cigarra to his lips, took a deep inhale, and exhaled it out at Kylo before reclining again in his chaise and bringing his datapad back up.

 

Kylo didn’t deny to himself that he felt a little disappointed at Hux’s lack of gratitude, but if all it took to receive the General’s admirations was a mere parlor trick, he supposed that when he  _ did _ receive Hux’s praise it wouldn’t be so satisfying. Kylo took a moment to commiserate with himself before gathering his verve and returning to all fours.

 

He resumed his breathing exercises. Inhale, one, two, three…. Exhale, one, two, three. Eventually Kylo reached a point where he was so focused on his breathing that he could ignore the ache in his wrists, in his knees, the dull insistent throb of his heavy cock. He was so enraptured in his meditations that he hadn’t even realised that Hux had moved until the General put the cigarra out on his skin.

 

The pain blazed brilliantly for a moment, and there was the distinctive smell of searing flesh. Kylo forced himself to relax into the pain, to assimilate it and let it bolster him. The soft press of Hux’s lips to the burn was quite a sudden shock, to go from the burning heat of the cigarra to the slightly cool temperature of Hux’s mouth.

 

“Simply exquisite.”

 

Kylo didn’t know if the General meant the incipient burn scar, or Kylo himself, and he was far too busy cumming to preen with pride over the accolade.


End file.
